Of All the Gin Joints
by Tainted Sesshy Lover
Summary: Pete really was not fond of the way Gabe was sitting with Patrick at the bar. And honestly, who didn't know that he was in love with Patrick? The dramatics of Pete's mind and a happy ending. Peterick


A/N Hello again. So while I'm working on Labyrinth, I pulled this thing out of my documents and read over it and it's just the kind of rambling Pete Wentz bullshit that I love so much. It was written maybe a year ago, and it's kind of chaotic and pointless and simple, which is exactly how I imagine Pete and Patrick. My writing has changed a lot, but then again, it's stayed the same. I hope this satisfies someone the way that it satisfies me.

Rating: M

Warnings: Pete's foul mouth, Peterick, and hints at sexual situations. No actual sexy time in here though. Lo siento.

Summary: Pete really was not fond of the way Gabe was sitting with Patrick at the bar. And honestly, who didn't know that he was in love with Patrick? The dramatics of Pete's mind and a happy ending.

End A/N

Of All the Gin Joints

He was angry.

Pissed as all fuck was probably more accurate. Storming through the crowd of sweaty bodies illuminated by colorful, beaming lights, he shook his head. Pete Wentz did not fucking understand Patrick Stump.

After years, fucking years, of being BFFFLs (best fucking friends for life), going through numerous break-ups and a marriage, a fucking naked picture scandal, and the motherfucking Best Buy parking lot incident all together, he didn't fucking figure that a little make-out session and a teeny tiny bit of groping would be the thing to fuck them up. Because goddamn it, he'd been saying for years how much he loved Patrick. For YEARS he'd shouted to anyone who would listen (and to people that wouldn't because he was Pete fucking Wentz) that Patrick was his golden ticket. His red headed ray of sunshine. For years, he'd kissed and cuddled that amazingly perfect skin of Patrick's neck on stage. If Patrick had thought that all of that was for the fucking fans, then fuck Patrick. Because he knows Pete better than anyone ever has, and if even he thinks Pete is that shallow, then Pete wasn't sure where he stood in life.

The bassist reeled as his mind was brought to the current fuck everything situation. There the little fuck head was, wrapped up in all 6 foot who gives a fuck how many inches of Gabe Saporta, blushing in the way that Pete knew put red blotches all over his neck and asking the bartender for another drink . It pissed him off. Patrick was so gorgeous anyway, but in the bar light, he really did look like the angel that Pete had always said he was. But goddammit, he shouldn't be there with stupid Gabe with that stupid, beautiful smile on his stupid face. He should be in Pete's bunk, doing much more productive things with that mouth than sipping on room temperature Dos Equis. He shouldn't be letting fucking Saporta plaster his body against his like he belongs there. Pete paused and scratched his bartskull. He wasn't angry. He was fucking hurt.

This morning had been different only because Pete actually got some sleep. He woke up curled around his amazingly comfortable for cuddling lead singer and was shocked to see that he had gotten five and a half hours of sleep. He'd stretched his arms out and felt exceedingly catlike whenever it brought an unintentional mewl from his throat, and then curled back into Patrick's back to feel light snores vibrating the soft skin there. It was when his arm laid across a piece of skin on Patrick's hip where his David Bowie tee had ridden up that Pete froze. It wasn't just that piece of skin he'd touched hundreds of times, it was the way that Patrick had lifted his arm up to make room for Pete to squeeze against him. The way that those sleepy eyes had turned to smile at him and make sure that he was there before they drifted close again. And really, Peter Lewis Kingston Wentz III was not known for resisting temptation.

When he pressed his open mouth to Patrick's, it wasn't the first time. It wasn't even the tenth time. It wasn't like one of those movies where fireworks exploded and the world suddenly realigned. Kissing Patrick, sharing their morning breath together (which really that should be gross, but you know, Pete) was like a quiet chaos. Like the chaos of coming home after being on tour. Hemmy runs around, sniffing and jumping around to make sure that no other animal has dared to come into his home, Pete is running around, trying to put things away and call his mom to let her know that, yes, I'm home safely, mom, I'm 34, and goddammit, he needs to go get Funyuns and M&M's, but it's home and there's a king sized bed and all of the time in the world. Patrick's mouth sliding against his is the most delicious sort of comfort and it feels like everything Pete loves.

It's even better when oh, hey, that's Patrick's hand sliding up his shirt to tweak his nipples. And if that doesn't just short circuit the fuck out of Pete's mind. Pete pushes his chest up, breath coming a little louder than before, and reaches for Patrick, thoughts only seeming to come in the form of PatrickPatrickPatrickGimmeGimmeGimme and lands back on that fucking gorgeous hip. He jerks the tee up, scrunching Bowie's face in the process, and is relishing in all of the skin he's getting to see with his greedy eyes when Patrick freezes. Those fantastic lips are peeled away from his slowly, and it's like Patrick is looking through Pete, already pulled away mentally before he did physically, and then the slow motion stops and Patrick has his shirt fixed and he's out of the bed and into the hotel bathroom before Pete can even think what the fuck, because really, what the fuck?

Patrick spent the rest of the day avoiding Pete like the plague. At practice, Patrick had made a point of turning his back away from Pete whenever they were tuning their guitars. When Pete touched Patrick's shoulder to ask about a chord, Patrick had jumped back and looked so defensive that Pete, in shock, entirely fucked up the string he was tuning on his bass and spent the rest of the time before they started frantically trying to fix it. What. The. Fuck.

It was so bad that the guys had noticed it. Andy made a comment about Pete needing to shower before touching band mates, to which Pete promptly wrestled him down and rubbed his armpits all over the drummer's most awesome beard. Joe had been smoking it up in his bunk, and came out only to ask if Andy was still considered a vegan if he had dead raccoon and Cheetos in his beard now. Pete really hadn't thought he was that rank until he sniffed Hurley's beard and then his armpits and then, "Dude. Arkansas shows are bad for my hygiene." Andy looked at him sagely, trying to somehow move his face away from his beard, "Dude, you're bad for hygiene." Joe laughed until he had a coughing fit and the smoking caught up with him, and he had to run to the bathroom to throw up. Pete didn't think there was a better form of justice.

It was okay to ignore Patrick's fit, he had them all of the time, they all did, and Pete himself probably had them the most, though Andy was a close second when they were on tour eating at diners constantly that didn't offer vegan items. Pete would have totally let Patrick have his fit, because they all needed time to themselves. Being on tour was hard, no matter how many times you did it. Pete got it, he was a caring dude, and he also loved Patrick more than he loved himself. So he really would have let Patrick be pissy and throw a bitch fit except for how suddenly Patrick wasn't just being pissy anymore, he was being a total manslut. Making out and groping him this morning, and now Gabe fucking Saporta? He couldn't even think of the Cobra singer now without adding a fucking to his name, and that was another thing he was pissed at Patrick for because Gabe was really a cool dude and he pretty much loved him.

He definitely didn't love the way that Saporta's hand was trailing down to Patrick's ass on the stool and he couldn't even blame Gabe himself because Patrick's ass was fantastic. He knows he's a melodramatic dude, but it felt like Patrick was leaning into Gabe and away from Pete and his heart was breaking in the middle of that bar. Was he really that freaked out? Was it because they were best friends, life lines, and he didn't want to ruin it? Or was it because Pete was such a fuck up and a disaster of a person that Patrick Martin Vaughn Stump could just never possibly go down that road with him? That thought was enough to make Pete grab a shot out of someone's hand that he walked past, (movies made that look cool but ew, straight vodka, what is wrong with people) and walk up to the bar where the two assholes of the evening sat, rubbing all over each other. If Patrick couldn't accept him, then he should just prepare for a lonely life, never being with anyone again and his music would be amazing because loneliness is a great inspiration, but what kind of life would that be?

"Hey Stump. Did it hurt?"

"Pete, I don't really feel like dealing with this bullshit right now, okay?"

"Did it though?"

Patrick sighed, and really, why the fuck did he look so exhausted, he was the one being an asshole here, not Pete. He moved his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose before he said, "Did what hurt, Pete?"

"When you got out of bed and fell asshole first on a large stick."

To Gabe's credit, he laughed hard enough that the bartender noticed, and he briefly unplastered himself from Patrick to order Pete a drink. Good guy, that Saporta.

Patrick however, did not seem to think it was funny. He got that look on his face, the one where he is so stressed out that he looks about 20 years old and like he has the weight of his shoulders. Even though Pete knew for a fact that he had not started this, he suddenly felt like the bigger asshole.

"Trick, I just-"

Patrick got up so slowly that Pete wouldn't have been able to tell he was getting up at all if he hadn't slammed the bar stool down when he originally moved his legs. But the look on Patrick's face was like he was going to crumble into pieces if he didn't find a bed to sleep in right that second. Why was he so tired? Pete wondered if he had missed something today, and he suddenly felt guilty for not taking care of his Patrick. God knows how many times it's been the other way around.

"Pete, I can't do this tonight. Not even a little bit. I've tried to think all day how to handle this, you, but I don't want to do this tonight," he glanced at Gabe who, once again the good guy, didn't even seem a little upset that Patrick was leaving him without a lay, "I really wanted this to happen tonight, but can I get rain checked? I'm pretty much exhausted."

Pete genuinely couldn't stop the whine that came from him when the other singer nodded his head with a warm tone and said, "Yeah Pat, there are plenty of cities for us to meet up in this tour. I'll catch you later." They were really going to do it. What if he hadn't come over here? Would Patrick be letting Gabe take his shirt, worse, his hat off of him? That hurt.

He decided he needed to take the night to cool off. Obviously Patrick needed it as well. "Goodnight, Trick. Make sure you don't sleep on your back, with the stick and everything." He cracked a smile that he hoped seemed genuine. That was the one of the perks to having big teeth; smiles always seemed real.

Patrick didn't even smile. "Goodnight, Pete." And then he was slowly walking about from the bar. Pete fought the urge to follow him with his eyes. And well, his legs too, because there was a reason he had a reputation.

Gabe was looking at him with the most bizarre smile. Somewhere in between confusion and amusement. Pete grinned back.

"What the hell are you looking at?"

"I just don't understand you two at all man. For two people so in love, you act like little bitches."

Pete's eyes widened momentarily as he took a swig of his drink. "We aren't in love. Not officially anyway."

The Cobra singer looked at him like he had never been told a bigger lie, and a huge smile split his face. "Dude."

"I said we aren't in love. Not that one of us isn't."

Gabe laughed then. Really loudly, and when a younger dude looked over, pissy that the laughter had destroyed whatever moves he was making on the blonde next to him, Gabe just flipped his finger up and laughed harder. "Dude, you're such a drama queen. You're all full of cliche lyrics and songs about Patrick and you can't see that he's just as in love with you? You're a Ryan Gosling movie man. The Notebook 2: Gay Romance in Chicago."

Said bassist proceeded to genuinely have a laughing fit. "Yeah man. Patrick is totally hotter than Rachael McAdams though. His ass is better."

"I won't argue with you there."

Pete's eyes narrowed, and his laughter died down. His smile stayed though. "You were gonna hook up. With my Patrick. Asshole."

Gabe actually had the nerve to look offended and he threw his hands up, palms out. "No man. Patrick does have a nice ass, but I respect the bro code. Well, not really. But your love for Patrick has kind of made him off limits to everyone at Decaydance. I'm not that much of a douche."

Pete nodded his head, somewhat skeptical still. "What about the rain check then?"

"Oh man! Pat totally agreed to produce a few tracks for Cobra's new album! I've been trying to get him to collab vocals on a track with me, and he's told me that producing was enough, so I was totally trying to woo him and shit. Get him nice and liquored up and then lay down the track back on the bus." He narrowed his eyes and stabbed a finger into Pete's chest. "But then someone had to come over and cockblock the music. Thanks, man."

Okay, now Pete was kind of feeling like the biggest asshole in the world. He totally knew he was already, but right now it was just kind of stabbing him in the chest. He totally cockblocked the music. And gave Patrick a hard time for no reason when he knew the singer was trying to avoid him. All of the feelings earlier were totally unnecessary.

He really was a melodramatic dude.

"That's really my bad dude. Hey, I'm gonna go find Trick. I'll catch you later."

"After you molest him, make sure you remind him that I'm serious about the raincheck dude! This song was made for him to sing in it!"

He smiled and walked out of the bar, heading straight for the bus. He knew Patrick would be in his bunk, hunched up with headphones on, doing his adorable workaholic thing and hiding from the world. Pete really did love the little fucker.

When he opened the door to the bus, he made sure to be super quiet. Stalking his prey and all that. Really more so Trick wouldn't know he was coming and wouldn't have the chance to lock himself in the bathroom with headphones, ignoring the bassist while he yelled through the door. It had been known to happen. Like, once a week.

He pulled back the curtain to the bunk and there he was. Patrick's eyes kind of bugged for a second, before he sighed and scooted over on the bed, taking his headphones off. Pete was already squeezing in before he had the chance to move over. "Pete, I told you, I'm really just too tired for-"

"Bullshit, Trick. You're working. Give me attention." Pete couldn't help being a whiny bitch, he really couldn't. Especially with his golden ticket. Patrick had always indulged him, so it was really his fault.

"Working is so, so much easier than dealing with- with- whatever the fuck this thing is." He nodded down to where Pete's hands had already curled around his sides, demanding to touch.

Pete couldn't help the cocky smile that was all over his face. Even pissy and tired, Patrick wouldn't try to move his hands. He had definitely created the Pete monster via major spoiling.

"Hey now, Trick. I'm offended. Rumor on the street is that we're in love, and I'm not this kind of girl you know. You can't just one night stand me. I will tell my mother you deflowered me and left me and she will totally hate you."

"Your mother loves me."

"Dude, I know. More than me I think."

Patrick smiled before he took his glasses off. He looked really serious suddenly, and Pete was glad. He wanted him to take this as seriously as did. Patrick and the music were his whole goddamn world and he needed him to understand that.

"Pete, we can't really do this, can we? Joe and Andy and everything we've worked so hard for. We've gone for years ignoring this, can't we just like, keep doing that so we don't completely fuck this up?"

Pete felt really bitchy at that moment, and he actually raised a finger up each time he ticked off Patrick's reasons like a teenager arguing with their parents. Oh fucking well, he deserved this because Patrick's reasons were bullshit. "First of all, we can so do this. We've been in a relationship for years, just without the sex and the title. Second of all, Joe and Andy have pretty much do not give an actual fuck. I'm pretty sure we killed off that with the years of cuddling on the bus and me kissing you all of the time. Third of all, there's no way we could fuck up everything we have worked for. Even if one day I fuck everything up so royally with us that you don't want to see my face, I fucking know we would be okay as a band because the music has always been priority over everything. And lastly," He huffed, a bit out of breath, annoyed that these things even had to be said at all, "We have not been ignoring it. You have. I've been telling every person in the world that I love you for the past eight years. And touching you every second I can. And writing songs about you. And dude, I let you take my words and put them with music and trust that it's going to be amazing, and really, how much more can you possibly love someone to trust them with that shit?"

He knew that had hit everything home for Patrick, he could see it in the way he was suddenly smiling with shiny eyes and shutting his laptop to make room for them to lay down. "We do make good things together."

Pete immediately squished as far into Patrick's back as he could. There were advantages to being short dudes. He still had room to safely kick the laptop down without it falling off. "Fuck yeah we do, Trick."

"...We can try, Pete. I can't promise not to freak out, but I want to try."

Pete smiled into his back and moved his hand to the Prince shirt that was on his back, and moved it up to again be able to touch that amazing piece of skin. It was so right and he could do this any time he wanted to now. "No freaking out allowed, Trickity Trick," he paused, "So, can I blow you then?"

Patrick swatted his hand away from his hip, and Pete could see the redness on the back of his neck. Awesome, things were so awesome already.

Patrick sighed, "Tomorrow, Pete. Let's sleep tonight."

Pete's eyes widened and then he slammed them shut. If he hurried and went to sleep then he could hurry and wake up and he and Patrick could totally spend the day making Joe and Andy gag with Patrick's amazing orgasm sounds. He couldn't fucking wait.


End file.
